Magic Blow Job
by JustBecauseCookies
Summary: What happens when Arthur and Vladimir are left unaccompanied in the Magic Trio's meeting room? England x Romania. Rated M for smut and mild language. ONE SHOT.


_And so my first Fanfic. Let's see how this turns out. *cracks knuckles*_

* * *

Everybody else was outside, whilst they were confined in a small classroom. Restricted. Stifled.

Vladimir glanced outside the window beside him, the panes of which a luminous white and reflecting each concentrated ray of sunlight that radiated through the entire school building. The glass too, was scorching to the faintest touch, soon discovered when the Romanian had placed his moist forehead and strawberry bangs against the surface, resulting in a basked, indolent withdrawing jerk backwards. He narrowed his crimson irises, leaning to place his cheek into his palm, elbow propped against the table. His foot tapped rhythmically against the underside, resulting in a hollow thud with each brief contact between his clothed knee and the surface, much to the annoyance of the pair that accompanied him in the classroom. Not halting his ministrations of scrutinizing the monotonous landscape out of the window beside him, the blonde's gaze flickered across the inhabitants of the dusted grassy plains, the earth visible beneath the rare, infrequent flecks of foliage.

Most of the people he recognized. Aside from his own 'trio' (or 'friends' he would prefer to call them- if he could call them that. They were there for him but neither of them he considered to be anyone special.), he could see another popular one; the name of which seemed to escape his mind, clouded and hazy due to dehydration, he suspected.

Allowing his vision to languidly roll against the periphery of the horizon, he inwardly sighed, although slightly breathless, in almost amusement. Not a surprise that Spaniard was with that brunette Italian yet again, he supposed once more. Lovino, wasn't it? The amber-eyed boy's face was flushed, although it didn't seem to be because of the heat, as his mouth, despite the words being incoherent and inaudible, seemed to be emitting several profanities and aggravated remarks towards the oblivious Spaniard, who just half-laughed in aggrieved agreement. They corresponded similarly to the atmosphere about them; bright and yielding despite their occasional disputes. He envied their relationship. It was adoring and respecting and he forced himself to dissuade his thoughts quickly. Vladimir's own love life seemed to be spiralling downwards of recent, ever since the Hungarian he had valued so preciously had abandoned him for 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.' He permitted himself a smirk at the insignificant insult.

"Vlad?"

The voice shook the Romanian from his reverie, jolting in his seat, the chair eliciting a slight creak of protest against the shift in weight. He had barely registered the Norwegian, who had been possibly standing there for a while now, towering over him disapprovingly, a permanent stony expression daubed across his pale features. Apparently the blinds had been rolled up shortly after, limiting Vladimir's vision; supposedly to prevent him from becoming unfocused once again. The room became peculiarly sunken and shadowy. Once Lukas had obtained the other's attention, he drew back his hand, which he had conceivably been waving in front of Vladimir's face- a classic plea of attention. The Romanian appeared shocked, dumbfounded for a moment though remorseful, if not embarrassed to an extent. He had been caught not paying attention again and more importantly so, during one of their meetings.

"Hm?" The strawberry blond eventually managed to purr over the faint humming of an adjacent fan. At least it was some kind of positive indication (If not an entirely noticeable one) that he had acknowledged his indigo eyed friend (The more he stared, the more he was consumed into the bottomless pits of overcast cobalt). The fan revolved its metallic head every now and then, its gentle, mechanic whirring becoming louder then quieter. Louder. Quieter. Louder. Quieter. Louder…

"At least try to show some consideration, Vlad," Lukas sighed reflectively, a faint tone of annoyance recognizable in his voice. "We've been here for a while now and…"

Another sigh.

"Don't act like I'm the only one," Vladimir said pointedly, before ducking his head miserably in shame at the harsh glare cast towards him. "But even Kirkland hasn't been doing anything!" He pointed accusingly, finger outstretched and bejewelled with a scarlet ring, the gem glittering as the golden rays bounced off it, and towards the Englishman seated next to him.

Arthur barely raised his head, spoon poised skilfully against his bottom lip and blinking in bemusement. The ice cream that settled between his palms was vanilla in flavour, melted slightly about the edges and contours of the container it was concealed within. The blonde's hair was almost equivalent to his own, but more mussed and unkempt about the fringe and ashen in colour. It didn't seem to catch the light as well either. Emerald eyes flashing in confusion, he looked between the other two's faces.

'Since when were we allowed to eat in the meeting room? Tch, hypocrite,' Vladimir scowled darkly, eyes pointing daggers in the other's general direction. 'And he still has the audacity to be so damn ignorant.' He crossed his arms of his chest in mild defiance, lips pulled into an insolent scowl.

"Don't even start another argument again," Lukas hurriedly remarked, perceiving the last occasion things had turned pear-shaped, expression daring to remind the both of them of what had happened. "Can we just have a peaceful conversation for once?"

Vladimir scoffed indignantly and Arthur shrugged in nonchalance, returning to his previous activities unfalteringly. The Englishman poised his spoon at the creamy exterior of the ice cream before smoothly scooping a layer of the contents, eyes narrowed into lime slithers of concentration. Once the metal was substantially heaped, he brought it to his dampened lips for the umpteenth time, each movement no more or no less relevant than the erstwhile ones. His tongue settled beneath the cooling material, murmuring a light, appreciative hum at the chilling sensation each taste he relished brought. The flavour wasn't in particular tangy, nor robust to the taste buds, but pleasantly satiating and lingered at the back of his mouth dully. As the texture was swallowed, that skilful tongue flickered out to lick away the vanilla remains against the spoon, eyelashes fluttering almost tauntingly.

'What other things he could do with that mouth of his…' The thought eradicated as soon as it arose and the Romanian's muse internally slapped him across the mental face. He hadn't even realised he had been gawking until the Englishman lolled his head sideways in an gesture so innocent, it wouldn't have been regarded as one insinuating less than guiltless notions. Vladimir's already heated face flushed scarlet, the hue seeming to match the tones of his eyes perfectly and caused him to avert his gaze although he was prevented from doing so when the Norwegian's judgemental stare directed his way again. Strangely, tightness had occurred between his legs, hardness blossoming and only beginning to press against the fabric of his trousers. In a panicked frenzy, he hurriedly tugged his shirt further down, managing to obviate his thoughts quickly. Lukas had initiated speaking again; though the sounds were muffled to the other's ignorant range of hearing and Arthur resisted against the chuckle attempting to escape his throat. Teeth clamping firmly against the spoon placed about his lips, his shoulders jostled with the exertion in the endeavour to prevent himself from laughing. Arthur had him now; the only question was how long it would take to send Vladimir off the edge.

Crimson eyes found their way to the Englishman's lips without hesitance or resilience, gaze flickering momentarily into the other's orbs; red on green. The eye contact was maintained for a brief, mere second and that's when both of them realised their individual roles. A shaped, blond eyebrow rose marginally on Vladimir's part, but Arthur continued to smirk deviously as his lips found the cold metal of the spoon yet again, placing a chaste kiss to the object. A simple press of lips and the contact was gone. Other questions caught the taller boy's attention, or rather a challenge he was opposed to.

'How long would it take for Lukas to notice?' Arthur pondered thoughtfully, his eyes yielding suspense in the dwindling silence aside from the constant drawling of the fan. That same repetitive: Louder, quieter rhythm continued, much so in time with his judgments. Lukas shifted his body weight then, turning to face the black board positioned against the front wall before bending down, his body arching to file through several folders of paperwork; their collective studies and conspiracies. All of it was magic-related. It was their hobby after all and the only thing that bounded the three together in opinion. The fair-skinned Norwegian attempted to start some conversation.

"Don't you two have anything better to do?" He stated offensively. The other two flinched at the question, deciphering it to be much more inappropriate than it had sounded. Abruptly, Lukas' spine straightened as soon as his arms were substantially occupied with several folders. "I mean, you have Elizaveta," Lukas pointed to Vladimir, losing his grip, causing several sheets of paper scrawled in dishevelled handwriting and diagrams of pentagrams to clatter about his feet, clad with converse sneakers. "You have Francis," he continued, muttering to himself as he reached for the lost fragments from the folders. Arthur's attention was captivated momentarily, frame bristling in recognition, mouth opening in objection before-

"I could say the same to you, Lukas," Vladimir quipped easily, silencing the other's first syllable, his posture regulating once he had acknowledged his gradually slouching position. With the movement, his shirt seemed to cling to his perspiring, balmy skin, dipping into the arches of his shoulder-blades. "Elizaveta's all over that sissy pianist anyway." Roderich's image filtered and pixelated before his vision. Those bespectacled eyes and upturned nose pissed him off to no end. "And don't you have Mathias to look after?"

The Norwegian grimaced in disapproval, his usually stoic features becoming sour with distaste. "That bastard can look after himself."

"Pretty sure that's not what you were saying last night."

"I don't know," Lukas sighed wistfully and, having collected the sheets, returned to his original position. "One moment he's alright." Before either of the others could interrupt, he continued in contradiction, "The next he thinks he owns the place. It gets to me sometimes, you know?"

Arthur had returned to eating tranquilly, no longer finding interest in the conversation though his brows knitted together at the lack of salutation. "You have no bloody idea," He finally mumbled to himself regarding the aforementioned statement. Both heads turned towards him at the faint threads of speech that etched through the atmosphere, catching their responsiveness. They gawked at him expectantly and Vladimir leaned backwards in his chair waiting in anticipation before both responded simultaneously.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter," He trailed off slowly, each letter becoming more drawn out with each exasperating word, almost as though that in itself was an effort.

"Sorry to hear-"Lukas was interjected by the simple ringing of his cell phone, the device vibrating loudly into a dull rumble against the fabric of his slacks. He paused what could have fluctuated between a few seconds to an age, making no gesticulation to answer the phone.

"Aren't you gonna get-?"

"No."

More seconds passed and the obnoxious ringing stopped abruptly before immediately resounding again.

The Norwegian cursed uncharacteristically, the annoyance in his voice masked by a breathy exhale, as he eventually burrowed the phone from his pocket, tapping a button to an almost violent extent with an audible beep.

"Ja?" He questioned discourteously, tone trembling with aggravation despite the calm expression maintained in his demeanour. Lukas held the device up to his ear, strands of light, platinum hair pooling over the phone. He turned sharply on his heel, the golden cross accessory upholding one side of his hair twinkling as it caught the ever-bright natural lighting. Even from a metres distance, the uproar of Mathias' distinct voice could be heard ever-present on the other end of the line. After a series of 'yes's' and 'no's' on Lukas' part, the conversation decreased in frequency and the Norwegian had commenced pacing the room, fingers flexing around the phone.

"Fine, fine. I'm coming over," He concluded and, without further commotion, terminated the call, leaving the Dane to banter enthusiastically and aimlessly from God knows where. Arthur and Vladimir exchanged glances eloquently before pinpointing their gaze in different directions. "Mathias needs me. Again," Lukas sighed and punctuated each word with a taut action before picking up his blazer and catching it whilst the clothing remained airborne.

"Meaning..?" Vladimir gestured with both hands, the corner of his mouth contorting into a suggestive smirk, revealing a pointed fang, situated directly above his lip, threatening to pierce the flesh.

"Nothing like that, idiot." With that, Lukas delivered a half-hearted slap to the back of his friend's head, tousling his hair and knocking off the miniature top hat positioned there. The ribbons of the Romanian flag fluttered about his vision momentarily in stream of red, yellow and blue before clattering harmlessly against the desk. That was, after several failed attempts to catch the item as it seemed to slip past his manicured nails with each endeavour. "He's just gotten into some trouble," He continued, indefatigable. "Again…"

"We don't mind," Arthur butted in, surprising the other two because of his plain presence and sprawling out in his seat somewhat. "You know what Mathias is like. Go ahead." He waved his hand in the vague direction of the door, leaning backwards precociously to make the motion possible, "We'll be able to catch up the next time."

'Impatient, are we, Kirkland?'

"I guess so." Lukas smiled weakly, gathering the remains of his possessions before apologetically nursing the previous slap given to Vladimir's head with a delicate ruffle and hurrying out of the room. "Farvel," he paused in the door frame before dismissing himself, his faint footsteps progressively becoming inaudible until only the light tapping echoed along the corridors outside, bouncing against the unnaturally and artificially pristine, white walls.

Taking the opportunity to arrange his appearance and gliding his fingers through his tinted tresses, Vladimir scowled before muttering in reply, despite the other subsiding out of earshot, "La revedere…"

Without Lukas amongst their presence, Arthur also seized the chance to loosen his tie, which was adorned loosely about his neck, and unbutton the second button of his shirt. The marble skin beneath was sheened and glossed with moisture. He pushed his bangs away from his temples, gripping his fingers securely around the dampened strands before releasing them again, bouncing back ambiguously into their former figure although protruding slightly with the gesture.

Both fell intensely silent for the moments that drifted onwards, until only the sounds beyond the walls containing them, audible if not muffled and limited, remained, a curtain of stillness and tranquillity draping over them awkwardly. Vladimir bit his bottom lip harshly, not realizing the complexity of his actions until he distinguished the coppery liquid assembling and seeping through a minor cut against his skin, darting his tongue out quickly to flick away the substance. The taste gathered bitterly at the back of his mouth, yet he made no complaints of distaste or revulsion. Providentially, Arthur was the first to break the ice, rescinding the detached barrier the other blonde had managed to acquire, which retained their separate personal space.

"Want some?" He asked disjointedly, tilting his head to the side and indicating towards the ice cream that remained, positioned in his lap between crossed legs and warming against heated, supple thighs. Blinking, the Romanian turned in his seat to face the other male, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the carpeted floor before leaning forward expectantly.

"Sure?" Answering curtly, Vladimir parted his lips obediently, despite somewhat hesitant, and glanced to the spoon, rotating and revolving in the palm of the other's hand. Perceptively, Arthur scooped a sufficient amount of ice cream, (The action had become repetitive and tedious) upon the metal, which refracted the sunlight partially, and directed it to the other's mouth. The Englishman leaned forward the remaining distance, the fabric of his clothes ruffling as he angled the spoon, Vladimir taking the initiative and eating the substance without determination. Much to his notice, each movement seemed to be slower and much more hesitant than expected, almost enough to be considered tantalizing as the Romanian's eyes relaxed, half-lidded and satisfied. The taste wasn't overwhelming, just plain and indifferent, evoking the previous thoughts that had occupied his awareness when Arthur had done the equivalent action. How that tongue had glided effortlessly over the slick surface, how his eyelashes swept fleetingly in a cascade of blonde strokes, brushing over his lightly freckled cheeks, how his lips seemed to caress and scatter against each contour, each curve and straight edge.

After involuntarily permitting himself a temporary muse, Vladimir hadn't realized how he had become so absorbed in thought that a small portion of cream had trickled down his jaw, marking his alabaster skin in a smooth stroke. Before he was given a chance to apologize in a flustered, stuttering state and frantically smear the remains from his face, Arthur clutched him firmly by the wrist, nails sinking almost painfully into his skin.

"No, let me," he whispered lowly, tightening his grip against Vladimir's minute protests as he arched forward, other hand supporting his distributed weight against the table top as he trailed his tongue along the ice cream, lapping up the remnants unabashedly. Vladimir's breath hitched at the sudden contact, only able to concentrate on the sensation and the reality of the situation, focusing on the feel of Arthur's expert tongue and lips, his body tense with oblivious incredulity. The Englishman's teeth grazed teasingly against the other's bottom lip, smirking faintly against his skin and mapping out each area his lips darted and trailed across.

With a feverish lurch forward and clumsy angling of heads, Vladimir forcibly fisted the other's hair into his hands and arched him forwards until their lips met inelegantly. Fervently, he shifted from his chair into Arthur's lap, arousal searing and tightening against his trousers as his lips moved tentatively against the others own. Arthur reacted confidently, positioning his hands about the Romanian's hips and using this newly-discovered advantage, compulsorily grinding the other's hips roughly against their clothed arousals, the friction causing both participants to gasp reluctantly. Each fold and crease of the fabric enveloped between their bodies could be manipulated perfectly to meet the insistent, continuous rolling of hips. Always the opportunist, Arthur flickered his tongue gingerly against the other's bottom lip before teasingly nibbling on the flesh to which the other responded by complying the blonde entrance obediently. Arthur glided his tongue into Vladimir's mouth, allowing their tongues to entwine leisurely and angling their heads with each varied locking of lips, the taste of vanilla shared in their mouths.

"A-Arthur…" Vladimir murmured against the other's lips, brows furrowing lightly in attentiveness, attempting to keep up with Arthur's frantic pacing and demanding dexterity. With fumbling, trembling fingers, the Romanian eventually managed to remove the other's tie, enabling the fabric to flutter quietly to the floor and position his hands about said boy's chest contentedly, eliciting a relaxed sigh. Abruptly, Arthur stood from his position, easing Vladimir from his lap and, whilst their mouths remained connected, forcibly pushed him against the table in an act of dominance, stance portraying pure authority. In answer, the Romanian arched his hips initially as they came into contact with the table behind him, gripping the surface until the wood, chipped and frayed, dug into his palms painfully. His knuckles blanched white. Eventually parting from the kiss, Arthur leaned back, a single stream of spittle connecting their dampened, bruised lips before catching the light as it fell against the Romanian's chin, redefining the line left there previously. The Brit made no hesitation in unbuttoning the other's shirt, tearing the fabric that clung damply to his chest and catching his nails in several of the buttons that escaped his firm grasp. Each ministration was rough, demanding and Arthur continuously watched Vladimir with lust glazed, hazy emerald irises, darting restlessly over the other's form and drinking in the sight before him. As Arthur's tongue and teeth found the blonde's jawline and neck, canines brushing over his flesh and lips following quickly after, embellishing each abused area with delicateness, the Romanian made soft whimpers of protest, repeating his name with increased urgency.

"Arthur," he started decisively, once his quivering lips had discovered words around the confusion hazing his mind and regular thinking process. His hands had found Arthur's shoulders, keeping a firm grasp and brushing his nails against the fabric, easing the clothing away subtly before bringing his grip upwards once more absent-mindedly.

"Hm?" A hum, vibrating dully against his skin, was Vladimir's only reply. Within that moment, Arthur had located Vladimir's sweet spot and latched his mouth around the area, sucking harshly at the sensitive region until his mark remained, recessed into the other's skin. A mewl of pleasure threatened to arise from the Romanian's throat, though with the exertion of attempting to hold back any embarrassing sounds, the noise bubbled harmlessly against the back of his mouth before settling gradually.

"We… We can't, not here," Vladimir whispered desperately, gasping around the words breathlessly and unable to contradict the increase in his breathing, the tightness and heat about his groin. The last word he had uttered was silenced when Arthur pressed his index finger to the other's lips teasingly, his smirk broadening.

"Shh~." He hushed him in an almost erotic demeanour, leaning up to silence the other further by flicking his tongue against the lobe of the other's ear mischievously, nose nuzzling aside mussed and strawberry-blonde hair. "No one needs to know, do they? What happens in this room-," A breathy exhale, a throaty chuckle tickling his bangs and causing the Romanian to shudder. A tremor ascended his spine before traveling to the pool of heat between his thighs. "-Stays in this room."

Without further interruption and declining conversation, Arthur's hands descended the planes of Vladimir's chest, fingers fluttering and brushing provocatively over one of the other's nipples, over his abdomen, following each curve and dip of his figure at an enticingly slow pace. He continued lower and lower until eventually reaching the hem of the other's trousers, two fingers nudging beneath the belt positioned in place and feeling about the material with feigned curiosity or contemplation. Vladimir bucked his hips eagerly, gasping lightly at the further clothed contact this conveyed, eyes fluttering shut pleasurably and zealously before the Englishman eventually unbuckled the offending clothing item and threaded it through each loop until it clattered to the floor, the metal clanking noisily in comparison to the prior moderate motions. Placing an innocent peck to Vladimir's unblemished cheek, Arthur descended to his knees, the fabric of his own restricting trousers scuffing against the carpet as he shuffled to make himself comfortable.

"What-?" Vladimir questioned incoherently, blinking as he followed Arthur's each and every move otherwise silently, anticipating for what the other had planned yet apprehensive of the other's general domineering aura. He blinked bewilderedly, observing the other's expression and searching his orbs in misunderstanding, noting the spirited twinkle in Arthur's usually dull eyes.

"Shh~." The Englishman repeated pacifyingly, leaning forward until his face was at level with Vladimir's crotch, his hands positioned about the other's hips in a bruising, vice-like grip, preventing him from resisting and rubbing his thumb against his hip bone. Tilting his head to make the action possible, Arthur leaned forward the remaining distance and caught the zipper of the other's trousers between his teeth with remarkable proficiency, tugging the metal down with a determined growl and nudging the now prominent bulge in the fabric with his nose. Vladimir bit his lip in expectation, stretching his fingers against the edge of the table and threatening to meet the other's evocative gaze, eyes glistening with slight anxiety and the coils of lust that convoluted in the pits of his stomach. With his intricate hands instead, Arthur unbuttoned the other's trousers and pulled the material, relieving the Romanian from his confines somewhat and causing him to elicit a sharp gasp, a sudden clench and tense of his body causing his nails to dig into the wood keeping him stabilized. Arthur's hot breath fanned out over the fabric of the other's boxers, mouth enclosing and cupping against Vladimir's clothed manhood, tongue pressing faintly into the material and causing the distinctive texture of cotton to cling to his tongue, triggering another whimper from the other. Once his first goal had been accomplished, the Englishman tugged lightly at the Romanian's boxers, yet reluctant or hesitant to remove them for the sake of teasing him.

"What's with the hold up?!" Vladimir snapped impatiently, gritting his teeth as soon as the words were uttered urgently in an attempt to assume some authority over the other.

"My, my, Vladimir," Arthur scolded mildly, lips continuing to brush against the other's clothed member and flickering his tongue against the tip, which he could faintly decipher against the boxers, mapping out the faint outline of Vladimir's physique with astonishing detail. "Didn't you ever learn to use manners, my dear?"

"Tachi din gură!" He retorted avidly as Arthur's eyes widened in misunderstanding, resisting the urge to snap to the extent that their session ended, yet furrowing his brows in slight annoyance. He continued to mutter, eyebrow twitching lightly although his sentiments are overpowered with arousal, causing his insults to deteriorate undoubtedly.

"All you had to do was ask nicely, Vlad," The Englishman purred sensually, dipping his fingers down the other's boxers and licking his lips which had become dry and chapped over the duration. "Beg me."

Mustering up some courage despite his apparent reluctance to, Vladimir blushed uncharacteristically pink, swallowing his proud shamefully before speaking out in another aberrant demeanour, his voice faltering because of his neediness, "Please…"

Surprised with the answer he had received, Arthur grinned in accomplishment before removing the other's boxers in an elegant movement, his hand instantaneously finding the base of the other's erection.

"That wasn't so hard, was it now?"

* * *

_Tachi din gură - Shut up. In Romanian. _

_Ahhh, sorry about leaving you guys hanging like that. /shot/ I was kinda afraid I wasn't exactly capable of finishing this up so I did what my abilities enabled me to do. I hope whomever is reading this enjoyed anyway and I contributed to the RomEng community. I reeeeeeally like this ship and yeah. _

_I don't own Hetalia or anything. If I did, my extremely rare OTPs would be canon. *shakes fists meekly* _


End file.
